Sunday, January 25, 2015

Poems that Resist Police Brutality & Demand Racial Justice - Post #15

We Who Believe in Freedom Cannot Rest - Poems that Resist Police Brutality & Demand Racial JusticeUntil the killing of Black men,
Black mothers' sons, becomes as important to the rest of the country as
the killing of a white mother's son -- we who believe in freedom cannot
rest. - Ella BakerEven as our hearts break in rage and
anguish over the murder of Black and brown people throughout the land by
police who are not held accountable, here at Split This Rock we are
heartened by the powerful actions in the streets and the visionary
leadership of mostly young people of color in this growing movement for
justice.We are also moved by the poets, who continue to speak out, and especially by BlackPoetsSpeakOut.In solidarity, Split This Rock offered our blog as a Virtual Open Mic, open to all who responded to our call for Poems that Resist Police Brutality and Demand Racial Justice. The poems below were submitted in response to that call. All of the submitted poems in this and previous posts were delivered to the Department of Justice on January 23, 2015 and the call for submissions is now closed. To see photos of the reading, demonstration and delivery of the poems, visit Split This Rock's Flickr account.Please note poems with complex
formatting have been posted as jpegs, as this blog has a limited
capacity for properly displaying these poems. We apologize if these
poems are not accessible to you.For more information or questions, feel free to email us at info@splitthisrock.org.If you are moved by any of the poems
below, please contact the Department of Justice and your local
representatives to demand for police accountability. Visit Ferguson Action Demands for more information.

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Amber Alert (in the wake of the missing of Relisha Rudd- knowing she isn’t the only one - taken in March 2014 from the DC general shelter)

by Liliana Hernandez

Amber alert warnings on the highway

When a rich white girl has gone missing

But where are the signs for the poor black girl from foster care

That has run away from her twelfth placement

Where is the search party for the girl

Who was taken by her boyfriend, who became her pimp,

and now she was moved to another state,

to sell her body, with nothing in return

and no one is looking for her.

Where is the search party for the boy

Who left prison after completing his time

And walks aimlessly in his old neighborhood

With nowhere to go

Except back to the life that took him

So far away

Where is the search party for the young transgender woman

Who had to flee her home

After being outed

And is now living on the streets

Wondering where to go.

Where are the amber alerts for these youth

Who have no home to go to

Where are the people who care for them

Why are strangers not gathering by the hundreds

to search and find them a home?

What will it take for there to amber alerts for young black children

To call the public

To act on behalf of these youth who have no home to go

Who have been forced out of their homes

Who have been kicked out of their group homes

Who have been discharged from jail cells

and into the country roads of small towns

where they are missing

Because no one is looking for them.

…where are the amber alerts for young black boys and girls?

When are we going to start looking for them and give these children a home.

Relisha Rudd we will never stop looking for you.

****

The Blood on Blue

by Bob McNeil

You have the right
to remain silent

Until cruel cops harass
you to speak.

You are warned that
anything you say

Can and will be
taken down and

Used as evidence
against you, but

That excludes the
Nazis in blue uniforms.

Some damn cops
should be dropped.

Some damn cops should
be dropped.

Nazis in blue hunt
people of color.

Nazis in blue close doors
to justice.

Nazis in blue say we
resist arrest.

Nazis in blue think
they’re thick whips

And we’re naked backs
waiting for pain.

Their badges are for
spilling our blood.

Their uniforms are
for filling our graves.

Some damn cops
should be dropped.

Some damn cops
should be dropped.

Nazis in blue, we
won’t disremember the names

Of those you
wrongfully killed or maimed.

Nazis in blue, we
won’t disremember the names

Of those you
wrongfully killed or maimed.

Nazis in blue, we
won’t disremember the names

Of those you
wrongfully killed or maimed.

Some damn cops
should be dropped.

Some damn cops
should be dropped.

Look at the blood on
blue,

Look at the blood on
blue,

Look at the blood on
blue.

****

Simileby Joshua WeinerI could feel his hand coming over my hand.It’s not a haunting, it’s just something that happened,like a five-year-old holding on to Hulk Hogan.Did he have a gun? It was still the unknown.His power a paragon sharpened on a touchstoneto cut down a five-year-old holding on to Hulk Hogan.Let me see your hands! He does a stutter step,his hand in his waistband; I keep it on my right hip.I just want a normal life, that’s it. That’s it.Night hangs upon the eyes that see the darker man.Rain swells the tongue; speech is jargon.Just like a five-year-old holding on to Hulk Hogan,I felt like a five-year-old holding on to Hulk Hogan.

****

No Justice, No Peace of Mind

by S. Renee Mitchell

Hands up

Hands up

Don’t shoot

Behind these words of protest

Is the heart of a skinny, young boy

Scared of the boogeyman called Officer Friendly

Secrecy shrouds the circumstances

Questions of guilt are circumstantial

The full context yet unexplained

A time delay releasing the officer’s name

So, this child adds up what is left in the void of
information

And comes up with this:

A white cop assassinated a recent high school graduate

For hours, his teenaged body lay in the neighborhood street

Til the festering agony of powerlessness that ran so deep

In this impoverished and mostly black community

Could not be soothed by hurled obscenities, candlelight
vigils

Or agitated graffiti defacing government property

Those who were there

Say the outrage of normally peaceful protestors

Was stoked by an outsized, aggressive police presence

Which showed up in riot gear, with snarling dogs and rubber
bullets

A dysfunctional daily existence stoked by persistent
oppression

Ultimately gave way to a dysfunctional form of aggression

“You fu*@king animals,” one uniformed cop is quoted on
camera

Was it any wonder nonviolence lost its reasoning with chaos
that day

Embedded black nationalists simply refused to see its
relevancy

And Mike Mike’s death – evidenced by pictures all the world would
see

Offered agitators a reason to release evidence of their
questionable morality

A perfect excuse for disaffected black youth to kick a bully
when he’s down

Brazen looting became a twisted tribute to the troubled memory
of Michael Brown

“A riot is the language of the unheard”

Noted Martin Luther King Jr. in his day

Here is the urban translation of modern-day juniors:

“Don’t nobody hear us until we do stuff like this”

Once again, a few blacks behaving badly

Represented all the blacks in that town who did not

And lazy looters made evening news

Instead of the questionable behavior of the cops

Cause on this soil, individuality is a given

Only if your pale skin classifies as white

When one face of color acts like a thug or an ingrate,

It is simply more convenient to assume they are all alike

“No justice, no peace “

“No justice, no peace”

This child’s voice joins adult shouts in the air

But the pavement’s chalk letters

‘I’m just another black boy ‘

Hint of a nagging and unsettling fear

A mother can tell sadness shrouds his bravado

Generations of grief pool behind his eyes

Cause almost every black child suspects that he is a target

And “justice for all” is an American lie

“I saw George Zimmerman get away with it

Now, it’s another case …”

With each step he takes into the night

He weaves in and out of the noise

Car horns blow

People shout

Whistles scream

But when morning comes, what will it all really mean?

“It’s crazy out here, though …”

“You didn’t have to shoot him down …”

“I am just 14 …”

“What if that was me?”

“Am I next, “ he wonders aloud

“Am I next?”

****

My Son

by Melissa Polite

My son know this -- you did not die in vain

I was calling for you to come home

You were my way of telling the world,

it’s time for a change

No, my son you did not die in vain

When you took those bullets and lost your

breath, I felt all of your pain

But my son it was never in vain

Your mother will cry for you

Your father will mourn for you

But your brother will get up and march

for what was done to you

So it was never in vain, the pain you were caused

The world will now know a change is needed

All from a bullet wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding

From a man that was forced to stop breathing

Yes, my son I call you home

But your death was not in vain

It was my way of showing the world it’s time for a change.

****

Why? Why not..

by Kaitlynn E. Hennagan

“This movie can’t be dismissed,” - Danez Smith

at least not yet

The real question is why?

Hmmm.

I wonder why this authors

takes such strong opinion

Is the author angry?

Is the author vain?

Or maybe…

No!

Too many questions

I’m just so confused

Why?

Why not?

All these powerful hesitations

opinions

and quotations.

Why must the author have so much

aggression?

I don’t know

Just please stop asking

It’s too overwhelming.

I can’t take it.

Why.

Is it because of anger,

desperation,

Inspiration? So,

Why…

Why not?

I don’t know why:

You tell me.

****

Black Boy Be Great

by SaShay Butler

Black boy be great

Black boy be everything they tell you,

you ain’t.

Who is they
anyway?

Lurking, watching, twatching.

Stop clocking him.

His time here isn’t measured

by tweets or every 28 hours his body remains whole.

while unwelcomed bullets tests his transparency.

he doesn’t have time to be

watching over his shoulder

to see nothingness.

Black and ostentatious;

You walk by me while I

model the emotions on my sleeve.

I can’t publicly grieve for the Black boy

society needs the black boy--

besides, who’s going to be the foundation?

The soil, the sun, the epitome of fire,

and everything that keeps us warm.

Who warns the Black Mother

that there are people who will take away

her global warming,

diminish his worth to a penny.

Her reason for working dead end jobs

to provide her son with a sufficient start..

Who will march… for all?

To see their sons rise in the morning.

****

I Hurt, I Bleed.

by Latoya Jeeter

I hurt,

Not for what bandwagons on the social-less media;

Not for what broadcasts on biased radio stations with
presidented symbolism of contracted oppression

Not for the guilty
until proven innocent or the ones waiting in lock-up

But for the voice of screenshots and fragmented angels with
low passion- aggression.

I bleed,

Not for the joys of deceit or the love of repetition

Not for the soundless patient with a 100% recovery rate

Not for the time that people say are so short but yet
continue to edit to a shorter time that’s controlled

Sometimes, I don’t know what “I” *insert verb here* not for…
or what for not…

But once the pen drops, the ink dries, the soul lifts up or
that little black boy

dies…

I hurt,

I bleed.

****

Let Us Be Free

by Anonymous

“This movie is about a neighborhood of royal folks--
children of slaves and immigrants and addicts and exiles” - Danez Smith

Thank you for making us think that our way of life did not
matter

From the way we talk, to the way we dress, we tried our best

We straightened our hair, we learned how to effectively
communicate

We got degrees all over our walls, and even changed our
names

Only to disrespect ourselves and the proud legacy that came

before us.

So when judgment day came for you to say, “Depart from me,

I know you not.”

We looked into the
mirror that said, “You will glitter like gold.”

****

(Untitled)

by Anonymous

A little boy in the corner of the room.

A different race, a different believe, a different point of
view.

as the room gets smaller, everyone groups, that little boy
is growing larger.

As that little room can not shrink any more that little
different boy is not so little anymore.

Finally, being noticed by few.

But as those few grow, the not so little boys view is
suddenly stopped by

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